


feels like falling in love

by Murf1307



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Tree, Coffee, First Date, First Kiss, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-15 00:53:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a rally turns into a riot, Combeferre comes to a few realizations, and Courfeyrac falls in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. realizations

**Author's Note:**

> The porn is in the next chapter, sorry. Also, there are references to the fact that what the boys do when they protest is inherently dangerous and someday someone could get shot. Later, some of the violence of the rally-turned-riot is recounted -- some bruises, nothing more. Sorry!

“I need to talk to you,” Combeferre murmured, pulling Courfeyrac aside as they left the Musain.

Courfeyrac paused, rearranging his scarf. He didn’t like the dead-serious tone of Combeferre’s voice — the last thing anyone needed right now was for something else to go wrong.

 

The rally last weekend had been a success, in the end, but had come at the cost of more than a few injuries and Grantaire getting arrested in Enjolras’s place, along with some negative press about the methods they were using. It had been a difficult few days since.

Part of Courfeyrac didn’t want to know if things were about to get much, much worse, but the rest of him new that if Combeferre needed to talk — Combeferre, who so often gave everyone else what they needed and so rarely thought about himself — he had to listen. He asked, “What’s wrong?”

“These last few days, I’ve been thinking.” Combeferre taps the knuckles of his index and middle finger against the front window of the bar. “With what we do…the worst case scenario is that, one day, one or more of us gets shot. Enjolras…you know how Enjolras is. And someday, Bahorel is going to get in over even his head.” Courfeyrac followed his friend’s gaze through the smokey window to where Enjolras and Grantaire were arguing in the back corner. They hadn’t stopped fighting since the moment Enjolras had posted Grantaire’s bail — everything from why Grantaire did it to how he did to out to Enjolras’s inability to put his own liberty before some kind of martyrdom — and Courfeyrac had a feeling it would be a while before they stopped. “And Grantaire, he’d follow Enjolras straight into hell, trying his damnedest to not let him go.”

“What are you saying?” Courfeyrac asked. “It’s not like we can stop. Not now.”

“I know. I wouldn’t want to, even if we could.” Combeferre looked down. “But we do need to be fully cognizant of what we’re walking into, and the potential consequences thereof.”

“Are you worried I’m not?”

Combeferre shook his head. “It’s just — I haven’t been. Not entirely. And what happened at the rally made me realize that.” He turned to watch Enjolras and Grantaire some more, his expression somewhere between worry and hesitation and his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Okay,” Courfeyrac said quietly. “Is there something I can do? You know I’m here for you, anytime you need me.”

On a whim, he reached out and looped his arm through Combeferre’s, trying to comfort him. Whatever was bothering Combeferre, it didn’t matter, because it wasn’t as though he was alone. They all had each other’s backs.

Combeferre sighed. “Thank you.”

Courfeyrac smiled and huddled a little closer, tipping his head sideways to rest it on Combeferre’s shoulder. “You know, you don’t always have to put everyone else first. You’re important, too.”

Inside, Grantaire had just turned and punched the wall, then sprung back, obviously having forgotten how badly he’d bruised his knuckles making sure Enjolras escaped the rally without getting arrested. Enjolras was at his side almost immediately, gently cradling Grantaire’s hand in both of his and saying something that made Grantaire’s eyes widen in confusion and surprise.

“Do you think they finally figured it out?” Courfeyrac asked, flicking his eyes up toward Combeferre’s face.

“Enjolras has, for his own part. What happened at the rally scared him badly.” Combeferre sounds almost wistful. “But he’s never been in love before. He’s not sure how to handle it.”

Courfeyrac nodded. “They’ll get there, though. They’re smart, and they’re eventually going to get sick of the fighting.”

Enjolras was gingerly releasing Grantaire’s hand now, and the two looked at each other in silence — the first silence between them since the rally — before Grantaire turned away. Courfeyrac could see, though Enjolras couldn’t, the flash of anguish that crossed Grantaire’s face to do it, and it was awful.

“I wish they would just talk about it,” Courfeyrac murmured in frustration, huddling even closer to Combeferre.

Combeferre let out a soft, wordless noise of agreement and slipped his hand out of his pocket to curl it around Courfeyrac’s waist. The change surprised him, but he didn’t at all mind — this was  _Combeferre_ , gentle Combeferre who cared so much about people and thought too much and needed to get out of his dorm room more often.

“Thank you,” Combeferre murmured.

Courfeyrac wasn’t sure what for. “You’re welcome,” he said, just as quietly.

Through the glass, Enjolras was staring at Grantaire, expression almost helpless. His lips pressed into a thin line, and then parted as if to speak. When he did, Grantaire froze, eyes widening even more than before, and whipped around. He looked terrified and almost like he wanted to hope.

“God, he said it, didn’t he?” Courfeyrac said softly. “Of course he would.”

Combeferre laughed a little at Courfeyrac’s commentary even as Enjolras stepped a little closer to Grantaire, reaching out to take his hand again. Courfeyrac smiled — this would be better, he was sure of it.

Grantaire looked absolutely blown away by the touch but leaned in as though it was gravity itself, his fingers tangling with Enjolras’s.

They kissed and kissed and kissed.

“Come back to my place,” Courfeyrac said, nudging Combeferre’s side as things seemed to get heated. “I know for a fact that Jehan has Cosette and Eponine over at his and Grantaire’s, so if things head where I think they’re headed for those two, they’ll be headed to yours and Enjolras’s.”

Combeferre blinked. “That seems reasonable.”

Courfeyrac laughed. “That’s me; epitome of logic and reason,” he said, covering Combeferre’s hand on his waist with his own and spinning out from under his arm. “Now come on!”

“All right, all right,” Combeferre said, smiling and following Courfeyrac down the street toward the subway station.

It was coming close to Christmas. The air was chill, and even away from the touristy parts of Manhattan you could almost feel the holiday approaching. Courfeyrac loved it — the city always seemed more home than ever during the holidays — and kept glancing over his shoulder at Combeferre before deciding to slow down and fall back in step with the man.

“You know,” Combeferre said, “Do you want to walk around a bit?”

Courfeyrac cocked his head to the side. “Something you wanted to do?”

Combeferre shrugged. “We’ve been busy. I just thought — you love Christmas. We could go pretend to be tourists or something. It’s only nine-thirty, after all.”

“You may actually be a perfect human being,” Courfeyrac said, grinning widely.

Combeferre shook his head and blushed. Courfeyrac grabbed his hand and turned them around. “I know exactly where we should go. This is going to be awesome, Jeez, you’re the best.”

He didn’t let go of Combeferre’s hand all the way to Fifth Avenue. And it wasn’t weird, or anything. They were all tactile, except for Joly (who made plenty of exceptions for Bossuet), and him, Combeferre and Enjolras especially so with each other.

But there was something unreasonably warm in the way their hands fit together, Courfeyrac couldn’t help but notice. Warm and solid, as though they fit together perfectly.

The thought struck him with a smile — it was the kind of thing Jehan would say about two people, that they were so well suited that even their bodies fit like interlocking puzzles — and he felt comfortably warmed by it. As they walked, Courfeyrac let himself consider it a little more.

He’d met Combeferre first. Enjolras and Combeferre were friends from grade school on, and then Courfeyrac had thrown together a trip around town the first week they’d all been in college. Enjolras had been doing something when Courfeyrac had dragged Marius over to where Combeferre had been, because back then Combeferre had seemed a little scary.

He laughed out loud a little to remember it.

“What’s on your mind?” Combeferre asked.

“I thought you were intimidating, when we first met. You look much more severe than you are.”

Combeferre blushed again. “I’m sorry?”

“Don’t be! After all, I brought Marius with me, and that’s really where it all began.” Courfeyrac tugged on their joined hands. “And then Feuilly and Bahorel by the end of the night — and Grantaire, even though he didn’t properly introduce himself to anyone until Enjolras unwittingly puppy-eyes’d him into it.”

“He was  _smitten_ ,” Combeferre agreed. “They both were. They just didn’t know it at the time.”

“I can’t imagine being in a situation like that — not knowing about my own feelings, my God that would be awful.” Courfeyrac flashed a smile and turned a corner. There was a late-night cafe on this street, and then they could go see the Tree; he was almost positive Combeferre hadn’t seen this year’s Tree yet.

Combeferre was quiet then for a long moment. “It would be difficult, coming to the realization.”

Courfeyrac tilted his head, pulling Combeferre aside just before the door of the cafe. “Is that what that was about? Do you have feelings for one of our friends, that you didn’t realize until the rally?”

“It’s not a problem. I — it’s not going to happen.” Combeferre shrugged. “I’m too afraid to ask.”

“Hey, no, don’t sell yourself short. As long as this person’s not in a relationship, you’ve got at least a little bit of a chance.” Courfeyrac felt a slick dread in his stomach. The likelihood of that person being him was slim to none, he reckoned; he was so close to Combeferre and Enjolras by now that the three of them were practically brothers, certainly brothers-in-arms — the likelihood was that Combeferre was in love with someone else.

And suddenly, Courfeyrac had a huge problem with that.

“How would I go about asking, though?”

“You could start by talking about what it was that made you realize how you felt about them,” Courfeyrac said. “Like, what exactly happened at the rally. And then you tell them how you feel. And then for god’s sakes ask them out.”

Combeferre nodded. “Thank you.”

With that, they went inside the cafe and folded themselves into little wiry chairs — the cushy armchairs further back were all taken — before Courfeyrac asked, “D’you want your usual?”

“Yes, please,” Combeferre said softly, hands folded neatly in his lap now that one of them wasn’t tangled with Courfeyrac’s.

Courfeyrac wanted to kiss him, badly. This was swiftly becoming a Problem. But he just got up and went to the counter to order their coffees.

“Date going badly?” asked the pretty, tattoo’d barista. “I hope it works out; you’re cute together.”

“I’m not — we’re not —” Courfeyrac almost yelped.

“You should give it a shot, that’s my unsolicited advice, free of charge with your coffee.” She nodded her head firmly once, smiling. “Go get ‘im, kitten.”

“I’ll have you know I’m more of a tiger,” Courfeyrac warned, a smile breaking over his lips, and he took the coffees back to the table.

“Seducing the barista?” Combeferre asked.

“Nah, not tonight,” Courfeyrac managed, stomach twisting. He passed Combeferre his coffee and sat down, only to find that their legs tangled under the table.

Combeferre blinked but didn’t move away, so Courfeyrac didn’t either. It felt big, though, like the accidental touch was important, and he wanted — he wanted —

But he couldn’t ask.

If he asked, and he was wrong, that would ruin everything, make it awkward for ages, and Courfeyrac  _knew_  it would make Combeferre feel horribly guilty.

So he just took a sip of his coffee and pretended this was normal. He tried not to think about the places where they touched, or the memory of Combeferre’s hand in his, and drank his coffee.

There was a few minutes of silence, only half companionable.

“There’s a bruise,” Combeferre said abruptly, drawing Courfeyrac’s attention back to the present. “Down your ribs, on the left side.”

Courfeyrac nodded. “Yeah. From the rally.”

“You got it pulling Bossuet out of the way when someone tried to knock him out.” Combeferre looked calm, looks serene, but Courfeyrac had a feeling that there was more to this than that.

“You treated it, after,” Courfeyrac said carefully.

“And on your collarbone, there’s another one, from when you — for some reason, threw yourself between me and someone else.” Combeferre takes a sip from his coffee. “Because my glasses were broken.”

Courfeyrac nodded, thinking about it. He’d seen the guy coming for Combeferre, and he hadn’t even thought about it, just dove in between them and punched the guy before turning to try and get Combeferre away from what was swiftly turning into a riot.

“I…I was furious with you for that,” Combeferre admitted, looking out the window. “You could’ve gotten badly injured.”

“Well, it turned out for the best, didn’t it?” Courfeyrac asked, hope blooming in his chest. “A couple of bruises, yeah, but everybody got out okay, and that guy didn’t get the chance to hit you.”

Combeferre shifted in his seat, legs brushing against Courfeyrac’s. “It…it made me think about what we’re risking.”

“I…please tell me you’re saying what I think you’re saying,” Courfeyrac said quietly. “Please, please.”

A sharp inhale betrayed Combeferre’s surprise at his reaction. “You — ah. Well, I…” It was clear from the way Combeferre was struggling for words that he hadn’t expected any of it. “You’re very important to me,” he managed, finally.

Courfeyrac smiled, butterflies taking up residence in his stomach. “Well, that’s using your words, I guess,” he said.

“We should go, um, go look at the Tree.”

“You’re just getting more and more endearing, you know,” Courfeyrac murmured, standing up and holding out his hand for Combeferre to take.

When Combeferre took it, he couldn’t stop the all-encompassing smile that broke over his face.

Combeferre blushed, and that blush deepened when the barista whistled from her place at the counter. Courfeyrac flashed her a smile and pulled Combeferre out of the little cafe and down the street, laughing giddily.

“She said she was rooting for us,” Courfeyrac explained, smiling at Combeferre. “Apparently we’re both that obvious.”

“I’d hoped,” Combeferre mumbled, “um, I’d hoped I was reading the situation right.” He squeezed gently at Courfeyrac’s hand, and Courfeyrac’s smile only widened.

“You were,” Courfeyrac said softly, pulling Combeferre a little closer to him as they headed toward the Tree.

Combeferre was quiet, but he was smiling, soft and sweet and almost secretively. Courfeyrac felt himself warming more and more at the expression, and part of him wanted to pull Combeferre down a little and kiss him for it.

But he waited, instead still leading the way to the Tree, which glittered at them even at a distance as they crossed over next to Macy’s and looked down the hill at Rockefeller Center.

“So, um,” Courfeyrac said, easily drawing out the syllables. “Is this a date?”

Combeferre’s blush deepened. “Do you want it to be?”

“I want to know if there’s an awkward first-date, glaring-viciously, curfew-setting version of our mutual best friend in my future, that’s all,” Courfeyrac said, laughing. “Because if this being a date means Enjolras isn’t going to act like your mother, I’m all for that. But if you wanna do the dinner-and-flowers first date thing, I’m game for that, too.”

Combeferre laughed. “I like the idea of dinner as a second date,” he said, and the way his mouth formed around the words made Courfeyrac pretty sure that Combeferre had never expected to say them.

He grinned back at him. “Good. I like having this one count.”

By now, they’d reached the ice-skating rink near the tree, and in the crush of people, Courfeyrac had the excuse to move a little closer to Combeferre. He slid a questioning arm around his waist, pressing their sides together and looking up at the other man.

Combeferre smiled, lips twitching the gesture out almost giddily.

“The Tree is one of my favorite things about Christmas here,” Courfeyrac said softly, leaning his head on Combeferre’s shoulder. “It’s just — it’s amazing that something so big, so purely massive, but otherwise not really that different from anything else of its kind, can pick up so much symbolism for so many people.”

“You’re kinder to the concept than Enjolras is,” Combeferre chuckled. “He sees it more as a —”

“— ‘bourgeois co-opting of a symbol with a long and storied history dating back to pre-Christian religious fertility rituals for what has become a tool of advertising to manipulate the masses,’ I know,” Courfeyrac finished for him. They’d both heard the rant at least twice before. “But what do  _you_  think?”

Combeferre looked at the tree and considered it for a long moment, then said, “Well, it’s a tree,” lips pulling at the corners in a conspiratorial, almost teasing smile.

Courfeyrac laughed. “It’s definitely a tree.”

“And I’ll agree that it’s disturbing that the materialism of Christmas and its symbols has overtaken the ‘spirit’ of the season,” Combeferre continued, a little more seriously now, “it doesn’t have to ruin the cultural connotation of safety and family and affection that a Christmas Tree has. We just, as consumers attempting to not be taken in by the corporate fallacy that spending money on their specific product is the one true path to happiness, need to look at advertising critically whenever we can, and do our best to disassociate the intended effect — i.e. associating happiness or security or family with the product being advertised — from the symbol we already associate with the concept being co-opted.”

Courfeyrac smiled even wider. “And that’s why Enjolras can’t get along without you.”

“While you make sure we have actual friends,” Combeferre murmured back, tilting his head a little to rest his cheek on the top of Courfeyrac’s head and pulling him closer. “People respond to you on a different level, and it’s amazing.”

“Are you about to start geeking out about my interpersonal skills, Combeferre?” Courfeyrac asked, almost teasing. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“I’m already very much where I’d like to be,” Combeferre answered softly.

A cascade of affection filled Courfeyrac’s chest. “So am I.”

They stood there, looking at the Christmas Tree, for a few more minutes, still and quiet and enjoying the moment, and then Cmbeferre shifted on his feet a little.

“Can we go back to your place?” Combeferre asked carefully. “You were right about Enjolras and Grantaire, if the lack of anguished smitten text messages says anything.”

Courfeyrac nodded. “Sure. Gotta give them their space, since they’ve been dancing around this for more than a year now, right?”

Combeferre nodded as well. “And, um. If anything were to happen, per se, while we were at your place, that would be fine.”

“Sex on the first date, ‘Ferre?” Courfeyrac purred. “I’m surprised. Pleasantly.”

Combeferre laughed, awkwardness receding. “We are adults, and I’m completely certain you’d still ‘respect me in the morning.’”

Courfeyrac couldn’t stop grinning as he leaned up on his tiptoes to whisper in Combeferre’s ear, “I’ll  _respect you_  in the morning, afternoon, evening…anytime, my dear.”

“You’re seducing me.”

“Mayyybe.”  Courfeyrac laughed and pulled Combeferre out of the throng of people.  ”Am I succeeding?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”


	2. sex yeah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the porny part, at long last.

The entire way back to Courfeyrac’s apartment, they didn’t do anything more than hold hands.  It didn’t worry Courfeyrac, though – what would happen would happen, and he was going to be glad of whatever it was.

Then, in the lobby of the apartment building, Combeferre stilled a little and tugged on Courfeyrac’s sleeve.

“Yes?” Courfeyrac asked.

“I think I forgot to do something,” Combeferre mumbled, flushing.

Courfeyrac cocked his head.  “What?”

“Do you mind if I kiss you?”

Courfeyrac smiled and took a step closer, bringing himself well within Combeferre’s space.  “You can definitely kiss me.”

And so Combeferre did, and his lips were soft and gentle.  Courfeyrac hummed into it, his lips splitting into a smile under Combeferre’s.  When they pulled apart, he slid his hand up to hold the back of Combeferre’s neck to keep him close.  “That was nice.”

“Yes,” Combeferre agreed.  “Yes it was.”

He sounded a little breathless, and suddenly, Courfeyrac couldn’t wait to get him upstairs to the apartment.

Which he did, very quickly.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, they were kissing again, Combeferre’s hands curving around Courfeyrac’s jaw, and  _Jesus Christ_  was that nice.  Courfeyrac’s hands were free, and he made short work of his scarf and jacket, and got most of Combeferre’s out of the way, too.

Combeferre broke the kiss right after sliding his tongue across the seam of Courfeyrac’s lips, and Courfeyrac made a soft disappointed noise before grinning at the way Combeferre’s cable-knit sweater clung around his body.  He moved back in, kissing Combeferre again as his hands came back up to work at the buttons of the sweater, moving slow enough that Combeferre would be able to stop him if he changed his mind.

Which he did not, instead responding eagerly to the kiss.  His hands settled on Courfeyrac’s hips, and his tongue laved over Courfeyrac’s lower lip.

The sweater came off next, leaving just a t-shirt underneath, and Courfeyrac couldn’t help the way his hands slid up underneath it to the soft skin of Combeferre’s waist and stomach – he couldn’t, not with Combeferre’s arms around him and his tongue in his mouth.

They had to break for air eventually, and Courfeyrac tipped his forehead against Combeferre’s. 

“This is good,” he said, smiling.  “This is really good.”

Combeferre smiled back, almost shy, and Courfeyrac laughed and continued, “No, you do not get to be shy about how good at this you are, you asshole.”

“You’re no slouch yourself,” Combeferre pointed out, and Courfeyrac preened a little.

“Thank you.”

Then Combeferre kissed him again, soft, almost chaste, and smiled.  “Do you want to move over to the couch or something?”

“Couch is good,” Courfeyrac agreed, but not before he slid his hands over Combeferre’s ass and pressed their hips against each other.  “Couch is  _very_  good.”

Combeferre almost yelped, before he started steering them to the couch in question and pushed Courfeyrac down onto it, bracketing himself above him and kissing him again.  Courfeyrac rolled with it – Combeferre was  _gorgeous_  like this, with the way he leaned over him and seemed on the edge of doing something that would inevitably tear Courfeyrac into pieces.

“You are so,  _so_  attractive,” Combeferre murmured between kisses.  “I can’t even explain how attractive I find you, and it just – it  _snuck up on me_  and it’s  _infuriating_ sometimes.”

Courfeyrac tilted his chin back to give Combeferre access to his neck.  “If it helps, the sentiment is definitely returned.  You’re one of the smartest people I know, and we know a lot of smart people.  And intelligence and eloquence translate  _directly_ into hotness, trust me.”

“So why haven’t you tried sleeping with Enjolras or Grantaire?” Combeferre asked, hmming as he started worrying a rather proprietary bruise into Courfeyrac’s collarbone.

“Because (a) they were so gone for each other from the very beginning it would’ve been counterproductive, and (b) surprisingly, Enjolras is just Not My Type.  Too much…Enjolras,” Courfeyrac explains, flapping one hand.  “I like you much better, in terms of wanting you to pound me into a mattress or two.”

Combeferre flushed.  “I’d say that’s a compliment.”

“It’s meant to be,” Courfeyrac murmured, tangling his hand in Combeferre’s short hair.  “Because I really wouldn’t mind you pounding me into the mattress, to be honest.”

“You are actually insatiable, aren’t you?” Combeferre murmured , driving his hips into Courfeyrac’s and eliciting a massive groan from him.

“You love it,” Courfeyrac protested, rolling his hips back against Combeferre’s.

Combeferre laughed.  “I do.”

Courfeyrac smiled, because Jesus that made him warm inside with affection.  “I’m glad,” he murmured, pulling Combeferre down into a kiss, undulating under Combeferre, pulling a few breathy wordless murmurs from him.  “Because I love that you’re here right now.”

Combeferre grinned, and it was a megawatt grin – Courfeyrac had never seen him smile like that, and he wanted to keep seeing it for a really long time.

“Can we, uh,” he started, distracted for a moment by the line of Combeferre’s throat, “can we get some of the clothes off?”

“Yes,” Combeferre breathed immediately, and leaned back onto his haunches, pulling his shirt off over his head in one fluid motion.  Courfeyrac sat up and pushed Combeferre onto his back, kissing his way down his chest, which made Combeferre moan.

“You are  _gorgeous,_ ” Courfeyrac murmured.  “Like, seriously, who sold their soul to make you this attractive?”

Combeferre laughed and pulled him down into a kiss.  “I don’t know, but I hope it wasn’t necessary.”

“I suppose,” Courfeyrac admitted.

“And you’re wearing more clothes than I am now,” Combeferre pointed out, slipping his hands up the back of Courfeyrac’s shirt.  He smiled.  “I’m not sure that’s fair.”

And Courfeyrac laughed, sitting up a little and pulling his shirt off as well.  “Better?”

“Infinitely,” Combeferre deadpanned before pulling him back down.  The expanses of exposed skin felt incredible pressed against each other, and Courfeyrac couldn’t resist reaching down to gently tease at one of Combeferre’s nipples. 

Combeferre moaned into Courfeyrac’s mouth at that, and his hips snapped up.

“God, you like that, don’t you,” Courfeyrac muttered, and repeated the action, because he could  _feel_  how hard Combeferre was, and Jesus fuck it was making him almost senseless with want.

“ _Yes_ ,” Combeferre gasped, hands scrabbling over Courfeyrac’s skin, getting back at him by sliding his hands down the back of Courfeyrac’s jeans and pulling their hips flush against each other, squeezing his ass and pulling a moan straight from the back of his throat.

“I want you to fuck me,” Courfeyrac responded.

Combeferre grinned again, this time devious, and sat up, pushing Courfeyrac back over onto his back.  “I think I’d like to do that.  Very much.”

Courfeyrac smiled up at him before kissing him, tugging at his bottom lip with his teeth.  “Good.”

“Bedroom?”

“Bedroom.”

Combeferre stood up in one smooth movement, toeing off his shoes and socks –how had Courfeyrac forgotten about those? – and leading the way to the bedroom as if they’d done this dozens of times before.

Courfeyrac followed, smile tugging at the edges of his moth because this was something, this was really something, and it might even last.

That should have freaked him out a little, but it didn’t, because this was _Combeferre._

When they made it to the bedroom, Courfeyrac was wearing this dorky grin and Combeferre turned to look at him and smiled, too. 

“So,” Combeferre said, and he looked a little nervous now.

“Goddamnit, take off your pants – no wait, take off  _my_ pants,” Courfeyrac replied, passing Combeferre and climbing onto his bed.  He looked back over his shoulder to find Combeferre was blushing.  “Come on.”

Combeferre blinked, mouth falling open a little, before he seemed to shake himself out of it and joined Courfeyrac on the bed.  He kissed him fervently, and Courfeyrac slid his hands up to card in Combeferre’s hair again.  When they pulled apart a little for air, Combeferre was smiling and Courfeyrac was flushed with desire.

Then Combeferre’s hands slipped down to worry at the waistband of Courfeyrac’s jeans.  He made eye contact, and Courfeyrac nodded, smiling.

Combeferre’s deft fingers made short work of Courfeyrac’s fly and he slid him out of his pants quickly.  They kissed again and again as Courfeyrac shimmied out of his underwear, his cock swelling as it brushed against Combeferre’s hand – which was still hovering there between them.

“ _Shit_ ,” Combeferre mumbled fervently, and curled his hand around Courfeyrac’s cock almost tentatively. 

Courfeyrac spread his legs, bucking into the sensation as he wound his arms around Combeferre’s neck to pull him even closer and whisper, “I’m serious about – _hgh_ _–_ about wanting you to fuck me.”

“I know,” Combeferre said, hoarse but seemingly determined.

He reached down and undoes his own fly, pushing his own jeans and underwear out of the way even faster than he’d gotten Courfeyrac’s, and now they were naked and rutting against each other, and Jesus Christ, this was going to kill Courfeyrac, he was sure of it, because this felt like heaven and was hotter than any hell.

“Condoms and lube, nightstand,” he gasped after a particularly nice slide, “please.”

Combeferre nodded and pulled away to find them and put them on the bed next to Courfeyrac, and he scuttled down the bed to better kneel between Courfyerac’s legs.  He made eye contact, and Courfeyrac nodded to him, leaning up on his elbows to watch.

His head tipped back, though, when Combeferre slid a lubed finger against his hole; when it pressed inside, slowly, inexorable and  _jesus Christ so good_  he let out a soft moan.  Combeferre chuckled, and Courfeyrac grinned.  “God, you’re either a quick –  _fuck_  – study, or you’ve done this before.”

“I have.”

“Lucky me,” Courfeyrac gasped, as Combeferre’s finger bent inside him, searching out his prostate and stroking across it.

There was still a sting, sharp and bright, when another finger joined the first, and it took longer for Courfeyrac to open around them, but he did; Combeferre was careful with him, gently scissoring his fingers as he slid them in and out of Courfeyrac’s hole.

“Three?” he asked carefully, and Courfeyrac looked over at him.

“Will I need three?”

“It’s probably for the best,” Combeferre muttered, flushing.  “I, I’m a bit on the big side.”

Courfeyrac shook with laughter for a moment.  “Let me be the judge of that, all right?”  He sat up, as far as he could, anyway, gaze zeroing in for the first time on Combeferre’s erection.

And promptly flopped back on the pillow.  “Three.”

Combeferre chuckled himself.  “Thought so.”

“This is going to be good,” Courfeyrac mumbled to himself.  “Oh  _God_  this is gonna be good.”

He wasn’t expecting it, though, when, along with another well-lubed finger breaching his hole, Combeferre’s mouth descended around Courfeyrac’s cock in a long, wet suck.

“Oh  _Goddd_ ,” Courfeyrac moaned.  “Shit shit yes good.”

It took all the limited self control he still had to not buck up into Combeferre’s mouth, and he almost forgot that Combeferre was fingering him.

He just lay there and basked in the sensations, whimpering when Combeferre pulled off to say, “I think you’re ready now.”

“Thank God,” Courfeyrac said, laughing breathlessly.  “I’m – I was getting close, there.”

Combeferre grinned.  “I’m glad.”

And then Combeferre was getting into position and his cockhead was rubbing up against Courfeyrac’s hole and then, God, slicking up and in — torturously slowly, but in all the same.

It did sting, but Combeferre had prepped him well; mostly, he only felt the growing sensation of fullness and he loved that — the feeling of being stuffed full and split open; he could only imagine what it would feel like when the fucking started in earnest.

Combeferre gave him plenty of time to adjust, though his shaking arms betrayed how hard it was for him to stay still, but soon Courfeyrac rolled his hips and murmured “Go, already.”

And Combeferre went.  He was careful about it, slow on the first few thrusts but soon picking up speed when Courfeyrac’s groans and whimpers were obviously out of pleasure, all the sting of entry gone.  It was incredible; Courfeyrac couldn’t help but kiss him harder for it.

“You’re tight,” Combeferre grits out, whispering it into Courfeyrac’s ear.  “When was…?”

“I usually top,” Courfeyrac whispers back.  “But I  _need_ you inside me tonight.”

Combeferre moaned.  “You’re gonna kill me.”  And he punctuated that with a twist of his hips that brushed his cock against Courfeyrac’s prostate.  It pulled something close to a scream out of him.

“Oh, you’re a  _screamer_ ,” Combeferre murmured, voice somehow full of bone-dry calm.  “That’s hot.”

Hearing Combeferre reduced to single-syllable words was a pleasure in itself.  “What, do you —  _fuck_  — do you usually fuck quiet boys?”

“I don’t usually fuck, you know that.”

“ _Shit,_  but you’ve done this before.” Courfeyrac rolled his hips up, trying to drive away some of Combeferre’s hard-won composure.  “You at least know how to finger a guy.”

Combeferre chuckled.  “I’ve done this before, just not often.”  He snapped his hips, driving in deeper than he’d managed before.  “But enough about the past.  You can get my full sexual history later.”

“I think we’re making some right here.”  It was cheesy, but Courfeyrac was pretty sure it was true.

Combeferre huffed out a half laugh and proceeded to drive Courfeyrac halfway out of his mind, pistoning into him over and over again, kissing him deep and hard and filthy.

Courfeyrac had never imagined something like this — never had the chance — but the fact that Combeferre (laced-up, calm, gentle Combeferre) was this undone and almost feral above him was thrilling, and almost as sexy as the act itself.

It wasn’t long before Courfeyrac was riding the edge, and he sputtered out, “Close — I — I need —”

And Combeferre, of course Combeferre knew what he neeed, and he curled a hand around Courfeyrac’s cock and started jacking him off in time with his thrusts.

Only a few thrusts later, Courfeyrac was flying over the edge and coming between them splattering on Combeferre’s hand and both their torsos.  The scream was ripped from him and he tensed — that was loud, he thinks through the haze of orgasm, even for him — before almost melting back into the sheets, body pulsing around Combeferre.

And Combeferre groaned and came as well, stiffening and then relaxing.  He pulled out and Courfeyrac heard him tie off and toss the used condom in the bedside trash can.

Then Combeferre leaned over him again to kiss him.  “Should get cleaned up.”

“Dried-on jizz sucks,” Courfeyrac agreed, and sat up.

“No, I’ll handle it,” Combeferre murmured, pressing Courfeyrac back down into the mattress.  “I like the way you look right now.”

It was soft, almost secretive, and a little reverent.  Courfeyrac basked in it, in the fact that Combeferre — Combeferre  _loved_ him.  And it still should probably freak him out, and it still didn’t.

Combeferre came back to bed with a damp washcloth and wiped them both down before kissing Courfeyrac again.

“Stay the night,” Courfeyrac asked, already feeling sleepy and sated.

“As you wish,” Combeferre murmured, and kissed him again.

Courfeyrac chuckled.  “No fair, I thought we all agreed we were only going to use _The Princess Bride_ reference for R and Enjolras.”

Combeferre smiled into another kiss.  “I know for a fact you don’t mind.”

“True,” Courfeyrac managed around a yawn.  Then, he wrapped both arms around Combeferre’s waist and pulled him close.  “Love you.”

Maybe it was early to be exchanging  _I love yous_ , but Courfeyrac didn’t care.

Not when he saw the way Combeferre lit up when he said it, and kissed him just one more time before they fell asleep together.

And when they woke up the next morning to the strains of “I Just Had Sex,” courtesy of Joly and Bossuet blasting it through the wall between their apartments, Combeferre’s sleepy little smile and the way it sent an unprecedented wave of affection through Courfeyrac sealed the deal.

This felt like falling in love, and Courfeyrac was totally okay with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally, after a five part post defending queer!jolras and the onset of Turnchetta being a thing (we climbed the whole goddamn mountain kids i even made a fanmix) i finished this fucker.


End file.
